I'll Lose Myself in Anguish
by Queen-Of-Heroes
Summary: AU- He did not want to fight against the guards. He'd been to enough executions now to know how to go about it. There was no escape from this point onwards, all you could do was face it with dignity and do not let them see that you are scared- French Revolution


_**Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or the book that inspired me to write this story.**_

_**A/N: Please keep in mind that I am not a historian and did my best to capture this time period that I find so fascinating**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

_I'll lose myself in anguish_

**BY Q.O.H**

This place reeked of despair, Soul thought. You could feel it; the unwashed flesh and sweat of too many bodies packed together, the blood and human waste that clung to the stone floor, the cries and wails of the condemned as they waited to meet their maker. Only rats and other such vermin could thrive in a place like this.

Soul was shoved roughly along the corridor, his hands bound tightly behind his back. Most prisoners did not have to be restrained in such a manor, the gruesome weapons the guards carried were enough to keep most people in check but Soul never did like being pushed around, literally and figuratively. The knuckles of his right hand bled. Scarlet liquid coating his hands but he smirked, all the same, over the heavily bruised jaw of the broad guard that stood beside him. Unfortunately his actions did earn him a black eye and busted lip.

They marched him down the corridor, past the cells where they kept the women, moving him to the male wing of the prison. They were separate rooms for those who were willing to or had the means to pay for them. Sadly, Soul did not. Surely that was a key sign that he was _not_ some rich aristocrat!

But they were blinded, the prisons, the population, _everybody_. They had been so focused on getting rid of the people that were oppressing them that they got carried away. It was so easy to go mad with power, especially when you had been so deprived of it all your life. Innocent people were getting killed left right and centre, Soul was no different.

Yanking open the cell door, the man who Soul had punched threw him inside. Not having his hands free to steady himself, the young man landed flat on the floor, his face pressing against the contaminated stone. "Hope you enjoy your stay, Citizen" The guard leered, wincing slightly as his face stung painfully.

Growling, Soul rolled onto his side, trying to get out of his shackles. He breathed shakily. It was getting harder and harder to not panic, to not shout and scream and cry because it was just _so fucking unfair! _After all he had done for the revolution, this was how they were repaying him? When he had fought for equality he had not expected Society to turn against one another. This morning he had been normal, like any other 21 year old man in France. It was not as care-free as the old days, people had to watch their backs more than ever, but he was happy. He had a place to stay and a group of friends who were now like a family to him, an incredibly screwed up family, but he loved them. Now everything had turned to shit.

He decided to just lay there on the floor for a while. Allowing himself to wallow in self-pity for a little bit before he had to actually get up and face reality. He lifted his head off of the floor when he heard a shuffling sound on the upper bunk of the bed. Or maybe the word 'bunk' was too generous, it was more like a long piece of wood someone had attached to the wall. _Oh great,_ now he had to spend his last remaining hours with someone he did not know. Could this day get any worse?

He heard the stranger slide off of the plank, landing carefully on the floor. He knew it was a man as they simply would not imprison men and women together, but other than that he could not make out any details. "Are you just going to lie there all day?" came a smooth voice, sounding as if he was caught somewhere between curiosity and exasperation.

Soul groaned slightly as he sat up, the task made much harder without the use of his hands. The man sighed "wow, they must have really hated you. I cannot remember the last time they had to tie someone up like this"

"Well that's just me, I make friends everywhere I go" Soul said through gritted teeth. He was in no mood to put up with some wise-guy's comments. He glanced up and was met with steady golden eyes. He was a skinny thing of about average height, his clothes were old and worn but they were clean as though he looked after them well and he had one of the most _ridiculous _hair styles he had ever seen- not counting himself and Black*Star. Three whist strips stood out against jet black hair, his expression cool calm and unreadable. This guy was almost as odd looking as he was!

"I'm sure" replied the man and Soul could not quite tell if he was being serious or not, that kind of bugged him. "I guess it is nice to have company, anyway" he said, sitting himself back on the bunk "even if it is only for a little while" he sat with his hands clasped neatly in his lap and with his back straight. Soul had no hard time guessing that this guy definitely came from a rich family.

"I am Kid by the way" he said, extending his hand "that is not my full name, of course, but it is what I wish to be known as due to the situation we both find ourselves in and I would prefer it if you did not ask any questions regarding it"

Soul stared at him incredulously. What was with this guy? Had they locked him up in the insane asylum by mistake? This was his punishment, wasn't it, for punching that guard in the face?

Crimson eyes stared down at the hand that was offered to him "urm, I'm kind of still tied up here"

"Oh yes, of course. How silly of me" the man climbed back off of the bed "these things are relatively easy to get out of once you know how. Father Law, the man who used to share a cell with me showed me how. He was surprisingly good at escaping for a man who claimed to be a priest" Kid said as though he was talking about the weather and not as though they were both locked up until their judgment day.

Soul could not see what he was doing but he heard a few scraping sounds and a couple of clicks before he felt the shackles fall off from around his wrists. He stretched his arms causing them to ache painfully, the skin on his wrists was a little raw where he had been bound too tightly but he was relieved to get rid of his restraints.

He glanced around as the man straightened up, dusting off his clothing. "Uh, thank you, Kid" Soul mumbled, receiving a nod in response "I'm Soul Eater" he offered out his hand which Kid accepted, shaking it as Soul got to his feet.

"Soul Eater?" Kid repeated, a look of amusement in his golden eyes "why, that is the most peculiar name I think I have ever heard"

Soul scowled "like you're one to talk, _Kid!"_

Kid pondered this notion for a moment before nodding "yes, I suppose you are correct. Nobody in this room is normal enough to be making remarks" he said as if that ended the matter "the top bunk is mine and I'd very much appreciate it if you did not touch anything"

Raising an eyebrow, Soul looked around the room. There wasn't really anything to touch. The cell was practically bare but he agreed never the less. And that was how he became friends with his rather insane cell-mate.

* * *

It was not long before Soul had gotten used to the routine of the place, when they would be fed, when the guards would come to check on them as well as Kid's weird habits.

The man seemed to take on the task of keeping everything in order, which was impossible when their cell had been soiled by the many prisoners that had come long before them, though Kid could not be reasoned with so Soul stopped trying.

They received food once a day. Not that what they gave them even counted as food but they ate it because they were both smart enough to realise that they needed it to keep a clear head. Soul often mused about how easy it would be to go completely insane in such a place. Some of the other prisoners made Kid almost seem normal.

But what he thought about most was Maka. He lay in his bunk, starring dazedly upwards as he tried his best to recall everything he could about her. Her smile, her laugh (Lord, he even missed her violent outbursts!) but the thing that he remembered most was the look of shock on her face as they dragged him away. She had not known who she had been dealing with. She had not known one of the people living under her own roof was of aristocratic blood. He often wondered if she would have treated him differently if she had known, if that would have stopped them from becoming so close. He shook it off. As passionate as Maka was about the revolution, she would not turn her back on a friend she had known since her early teens just because of something so insignificant as his parentage.

It was not like they had been much of a family to him anyway. He turned his back on that life when he was fourteen, _way_ before the Revolution even started.

Soul felt the wooden board creek as Kid perched himself on the end of it, eyeing his friend with a glint of mirth in his eyes "I know that look. Are you thinking about your girl?" he asked, sitting, like he always did, as though he was sat at the head of an impressive dinner table.

Soul's throat felt rather dry but he nodded. It wasn't necessarily true but it was not a lie either. Maka was not his girl, he doubted anyone would be able to own Maka Albarn- she was stubborn like that. He smiled. No, there were not really words for the relationship he shared with Maka; it was a strange mix between friends, lovers and enemies. It was a complete mess but it worked for them.

"What is she like?" Kid asked. This was how they were forced to spend their days, making conversation. It had been awkward at first, sharing small-talk about things like what food might be served to them that day, but as time passed Soul found himself getting more and more comfortable around Kid. He was a good guy, crazy as hell, but a good guy. Maybe if they had met outside of prison they could have been good friends, but they were both wary of forming attachments, it just made it harder when their time came.

"Smart" Soul murdered "sharp as a knife, doesn't miss a trick, that one" he could not help the fond smile that tugged at his lips "brave as hell too, which is great but that makes her reckless. I can't tell you how many times I've had to bandage her up because she's gotten herself into some sort of trouble" He chuckled softly.

Kid smiled, it felt good to smile, and it kept the overwhelming feeling of doom at bay and made them feel normal if only for a short while "do you love her?"

Soul paused, taking his time to think it through before he nodded again. It was only now, as he had entire days and nights in which to organise his feelings that he realised it. He also supposed that his upcoming date with the guillotine helped put things into perspective, even what he felt for Maka "yeah" he said quietly "yeah, I suppose I do".

* * *

It was strange, thinking about his family after all this time. They were long gone now. The Evans family had been one of the most well-known, and therefore one of the first to die, of the aristocratic families.

He had just turned twenty when the news had hit. He had spent the last six years ducking the law and trying to make a living. It was not easy to make some honest money in a city like Paris when you had nothing going for you other than the ability to force a mournful tune out of a piano. It had only been a couple of months since he joined the group of petty criminals he now thinks of as his real family.

He had been out of town with Black*Star and Elizabeth, recurring some not-so-legal shipments of alcohol. They might have been breaking the law but they never did anything drastic. Their gang was often blamed for much more sinister crimes that anyone one with a brain would be able to see that they simply did not commit.

It had been snowing and he was fucking tired of Black*Star boasting in his ear. He just wanted to get back to the run-down house and sit down in front of the fire.

He had missed the execution. He was thankful for that. If he had been inside Paris at the time he would have had no option other than to go. Those who did not attend were looked on with suspicion and disdain, rumours would begin the fly and the next thing you knew it would be them bowed over, pale faced as they waited for the blade to fall. It was sick really, it made Soul's stomach churn. Maka's hand would always find his, squeezing it tightly as the petite women stared straight ahead. Her expression was always stony but he could see the horror in her green eyes.

It had been Maka who had told him. They had trudged inside, rubbing their hands together, desperately trying to generate some heat to warm up their bone-chilled bodies. They had all sat down in front of the roaring fire before Maka had read them the list of names, like they did whenever somebody had missed an execution.

He should have expected it really. It was only a matter of time before the revolution took hold of his family. But he had not been able to process it, the next thing he knew he was grabbing his coat and rushing out of the door. It was late at night and the winds were blistering.

He had ended up on a bridge, staring down into the frosty waters. Tears had slid down his face. He _did not_ weep for his parents. They had been nothing to him, they might have given him life but they had shown no sign of affection towards him, not once. He _did_ weepfor his brother though, for Wes. He did not deserve such a fate.

Hours had passed and he had not noticed even though his skin was as cold as ice and it was difficult to breathe. He heard footsteps approaching him and felt a small gloved hand squeezing his shoulder gently. She had come out all this way for him in the middle of the night when it was snowing heavily, she did not ask him any questions, just let him burry his face into the crook of her neck. She hadn't even told the others that he had cried. That was one of the greatest things about Maka, she _understood._

* * *

That day, it did not seem any different from any of the others in that hell hole. Each day was the same, to the point where Soul could not remember how long he had been here, Kid had lost track a long time ago. He had not heard anything form his friends, he supposed that was to be expected, it was unlikely that they would be able to get word to him in prison but that did not stop him worrying about them.

The only thing that was significantly different that morning had been the silence. The prison was usually so noisy, the barks of dogs, the footsteps of the guards and the screams of their fellow captives. It was putting everyone on edge. Soul would have longed for things to go back to normal, as normal as things could get in here. There was only one conclusion that he could come up with as to why this was, and as he was dragged out of his cell, Soul really hated himself for being right.

He did not want to fight against the guards. He'd been to enough executions now to know how to go about it. There was no escape from this point onwards, all you could do was face it with dignity and do not let them see that you are scared.

And that's what Soul was, scared. Well fucking terrified was more fitting but you got the picture. He refused to tremble or cry; he clenched his jaw slightly and kept his shoulders back. He had spent his whole life maintaining a cool and calm exterior; there was no need to give that up now.

His trial would come first, not that it really mattered, he was as good as dead anyway. He had never heard of anyone coming out of one of these trials having been deemed innocent. They did not care who you were, if they believed you had even the smallest link to the upper class you were dead, and as the son of a Duke Soul was royally fucked.

He hoped Kid would be okay. He'd grown very fond of the man, he did not seem as though he had much of a family either but they never touched that topic during their conversations, they could tell without asking that it was a sensitive subject for both parties.

Most of all, however, he hoped Maka did not turn up to watch. He knew she would, no matter how much he wished she would miss it just this once. He hated the idea. He did not want for her, of all people, to see him die, not like this, not when he was being killed for all the wrong reasons. She had suffered far too much in her life; he could not bring himself to look at those deep emerald orbs of hers as they dropped the blade onto his neck.

Soul was led to a room at the end of the wing. It was a fairly large room, with a haughty looking elderly judge and an equally elderly jury. They watched him as he entered. He could hear their whispering about his appearance. It was hard to miss how much he resembled the Evans family, it was not by coincidence that he shared the same messy white hair; it was not exactly a common hair colour in Paris or anywhere for that matter.

He blocked out their words as he was led to the middle of the floor, the guards at either side of him as he was stared down upon from the raised wooden benches. Soul's mouth went dry as he felt completely exposed to the many pair of judgemental eyes, all longing for his demise.

"Name, age and place of birth" the judge said gruffly, searching through his papers for the report on the young man standing before him.

Soul made sure to look straight at the old man with every shard of confidence he still possessed "Soul Eater, aged 21, born in Paris" he said clearly and unwaveringly.

The man arched a brow analysing him with scrutiny "Eater?" he said as if the word held some foul meaning "No, Citizen, I believe your name is Soul _Evans_, the youngest son of the Duke and Duchess and younger brother of Lord Wesley Evans"

Soul felt a slight lump in his throat at the mention of Wes "that name did belong to me once but I discarded it many years before the revolution. I am not of high standing, I am just as much an honest working Frenchman as the rest you. I support the revolution whole heartedly" That feeling was starting to change somewhat. King or no king, things were corrupted.

The judge paused, as if trying to make sense of the strange boy "I do think you are incorrect, Citizen. Due to the recent death of your brother his title passes on to you, making you the current Lord Evans and we can simply _not_ allow aristocrats like you to live"

Soul gritted his teeth. He was poor as dirt. All had had to his name were the clothes on his back and a place in Maka's bed and here they were treating him as though he was some twisted millionaire that was defying their cause!

It was pointless fighting back; they wanted him dead no matter what he said.

The judge seemed to have come to that same conclusion as he looked over to the Jury, who had been getting rather bored before the appearance of someone like Soul who was _truly_ guilty of being linked to their enemies. "How do you find Soul Evans?" the judge asked lazily. It was going to be a long day and he had very little interest in whether this man was innocent or not, he had hundreds of other people to stance today. It was _such _a demanding job.

Soul did not flinch; he stared at the jury with burning red eyes, a few shifted in their seats uncomfortable. Yep, they were not going to forget him in a hurry. There was a pause before a resounding chorus of "GUILTY!"

Soul had expected nothing less.

He was grabbed roughly by the guards and was taken back out the way he came. So this was it, huh? Oh well, he had lived a good life, had he not? He wished he could have seen Wes one more time but at this rate he was going to see his older brother very _very_ soon. He regretted leaving his friends behind. Black*star would be okay, he was strong and determined as were most of their gang.

But right now he would sell his soul (he did not have much else to offer) to spend a little more time with Maka.

He felt his stomach drop as he was pulled out of the room to see Kid waiting outside, ready to be sentenced to the same fate as himself. The two men's eyes met briefly, they did not say anything, but their message was clear _'stay strong, don't let them see you break'._

The door was pulled open and everything went in slow motion as Soul's heart pounded heavily against his chest. The crowd were shouting and jeering but he could not hear them, the smell of death was rife in the air as he was forced up onto the dock. There was another prisoner before him, a woman and whilst Soul could still not hear, he could tell that she was sobbing and shouting loudly. He felt sick as the crowd lapped up her fear, turning it into their own malice. What had this beautiful country come to?

Doing his best not to focus on the poor women who was now being dragged kicking and screaming over to the guillotine, Soul began to scan the audience, looking for a certain group of individuals.

He spotted Black*Star first, his bright blue hair poorly concealed under his cap, he was standing at the far side of the docks, staring at him with a pale face, his usually excitable demeanour gone. It took him a few minutes but he discovered that the group was split up amongst the crowd, each person stationed in a different place. That was a bit…odd, to say the least.

Garnet eyes finally tracked down the person he was most desperate to find. He was relieved and furious that she was here all at the same time. There she was, blonde hair tucked up under her cap, her small frame drown by the heavy overcoat, _his_ overcoat. Big green eyes were full of worry and something else…

If he was not so focused on maintaining his cool exterior he would have smiled. She really was amazing, that girl. Maybe if he had lived long enough he could have displayed his feelings for her, they were lovers of a sort already but no words of undying love had passed either of their lips, even though Soul felt like he wanted to shout it from the rooftops some days.

She would forget about him, not for a while, but eventually she would. Maka would move on just as stubborn and passionate as she was now. She would find a husband, a nice guy who _actually _deserved her and they would settle down and have children and she would be happy. That is what he wanted, in his last few seconds of life, for her to be happy.

But something was not making sense, the placement for their group in the crowd, the stony determined expression of his comrades. He looked back at Maka, her jaw set, green eyes blazing. Her lips curved up to give him a small sly smile.

No, _NO!_ What were they playing at? He had left her in charge for a reason! Because she was smart and cared about the welfare of their friends just as much as he did but she _was_ reckless, oh Lord she was reckless but this was a _whole _new level.

She must have noticed the dawning look of comprehension on his face, and pitied him for figuring it out so soon, as her smile softened to one of slight apology.

Though Maka would not be sorry for what she was about to do, her friends knew the risks, knew exactly what they were about to do and that was good enough for her. She did feel bad for him as he locked eyes with her, shaking his head, his expression one of pleading. Maka knew him well, he would rather die them let them do this but Maka could not allow that.

He had been such a key part of her life, of all their lives. They had fought so hard for equality only to be stabbed in the back and have their leader snatched away from them. She had never known him as Evans, he always been Soul Eater to her. It all made sense now, why he did not want to talk about his past or his family, why he turned so pale and ran out on her when she informed him of the Evans' deaths.

Yes, in blood Soul might be an Aristocrat but in spirit he was just like the rest of them. Just because he had come from a rich home did not mean he was not as lost as they were, as_ she_ was. He helped fill the void left by her family, the strange boy with the dark sense of humour, who was terrifying and beautiful at the same time.

Her throat tightened up. She could not lose him, she _would not_ lose him! Even if it meant defying their cause they would bring him back. They may no longer have a place in the old society or a place in the Revolution after this but it would be worth it as long as they had Soul as their leader. This might be the very day that they are all murdered alongside him but then, at least, they would die together.

Was it sick to sacrifice yourself and all your friends for one man? Maybe. Maka was sickened by herself at how much she was willing to give up for him but she knew, if the roles were reversed, he would do the same for her.

A tear trickled down her face as she gave him a final smile, grabbing the hilt of her sword. She looked as his ragged appearance, far more frail and weak than when she had last seen him but she tried to memorise him, hating herself for not taking the time to do it before. Green eyes met red, everything else going on around them stopping completely as her mouth formed the words "_Je t'aime_".

Whether he heard them or not it did not matter. She would repeat them again later when they were safe on their way out France or when they were in the afterlife.

Turning her head Maka nodded, giving Black*Star the signal who soon passed it onwards to the Thompson sisters. Maka drew her sword, it was now or never.

_The End_

* * *

**I got the idea to write this from one of my favourite books ever, The Red Necklace By Sally Gardener. It is such a beautiful book. Anyway, I was flicking through my old copy and this kind of popped into my head. My friend is also really into Les Mis right now and I really want to watch it!**

**Thank you for all your reviews for my other story, they really encouraged me to sit down and write this one.**

_Love, __**Q.O.H**_


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